


Flour

by Writing-Rammstein (writingfanfic)



Category: Rammstein
Genre: Baking, F/M, Flour fight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-04
Updated: 2018-05-04
Packaged: 2019-05-02 04:54:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14537085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingfanfic/pseuds/Writing-Rammstein
Summary: For the prompt: 'One where Richard is teaching you how to make doughnuts and you both end up covered in flour and totally giggly?'Ofc. Short but sweet.





	Flour

“Yeast is alive. You know that, right? Does Schneider eat donuts?”

Richard looks at you, face completely neutral, and you smile.

“I’m gonna tell him.”

“No, you are not, and you are not concentrating.” You’ve never seen him this serious; his concentrating face is remarkably handsome, and his profile is exquisite. You could just watch him do this all day. “Okay. Do you have the flour? Carefully measured out?”

“Yeah. It’s there.” You hand it to him, and then daub at his nose, streaking him. “You’ve got some on your face…” He looks down at the pan of flour, and then back up at you, and you realise you have sorely underestimated your boyfriend ability to be Extra™ – he blows into the pile of flour and you duck back as you are engulfed in a blizzard. “Richard!”

You smack the underneath of the pan and he jumps as it  _pwoufs_ out all over him; you pause, and as he emerges, looking like a throwback to what the internet calls ‘Silver Reesh’ and coughing slightly, you laugh hysterically.

“Okay. I am not gonna get mad.” He reached out and grabs you, hugging you whilst shaking himself to cover you, and you shriek. “I am not mad. Can you tell I am not mad? Because I’m not mad.”

“Oh my god…” You cling to him, giggling, and he kisses you – it’s sweet at first but the chalky taste of the flour is eventually overwhelming and you both pull back, sticking your tongue out. “Okay. So… we wasted some flour.”

You both look around – the floor is by far the worst, but there’s flour on the sides, on the table, on the fridge… he looks at you, and you shrug.

“It’s in your eyelashes.”


End file.
